


All Good Things...

by Scattyuk



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: Canon Compliant, Coming Out, Drunken phonecalls, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Missing Scene, Post-SE, Post-Singapore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-05-02 02:25:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14534661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scattyuk/pseuds/Scattyuk
Summary: Finally complete! A series of inter connected snapshots between Autumn 2007 and Spring 2018 as John Paul and Craig continue to impact the lives of those around them - and increasingly vice versa - en route to their third and perhaps final attempt at a happy ending.





	1. Laura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I went through it all over again. I was seeing this girl ... kept finding excuses not to sleep with her. So then I told her."  
> "You told her you were gay?"  
> "I told her I was still in love with my ex."  
> \------------------------------------

 She gave a short gasp and held her hand up, stopping him in mid-excruciating-flow. “ _He_?!”

 “What?”

“You- the ex, the amazing ex you’re still in love wit’ – you said _he_.”

For a moment he just stared at her, his heart racing. And then he nodded.

“Craig, are you _gay_?”

“No, n- it’s not -it’s not that simple,” he stammered, hating hearing those words coming out of his mouth again. As if the complexity of his feelings for one man hadn’t already caused him enough heartache.

“Bi then?”

“I – n- sort of – look, what does it matter? I’m sorry, I’m sorry I let things go on this long, I thought I could get over him. I haven’t. I’m sorry. That’s all I wanted to say.”

Laura shook her head in disbelief. “All this time I thought I somehow had to live up to the fucking model, but it wasn’t her you were thinking of every blasted time your eyes went blank then, was it?”

He ducked his head. “I- I didn’t know I was doing that. I’m sorry.”

“You should be sorry. I’d always ask you what was wrong and you’d always say not’ing. You treated me like a fuckin’ eejit.” She sat back and crossed her arms. “What’s his name?”

“What?”

 “Well sure, don’t I deserve to know who you’ve been hung up on all this time?”

“John Paul.” Just to say his name was to bring back the smell of his aftershave, the feel of his silky fair hair, the memory of blue eyes glancing sideways, a smirking mouth. By the time he could focus again, Laura was giving him a _look_ , lips pursed and one eyebrow raised.

He flushed but all she said was- “John Paul the best friend?” Craig nodded. “And what about the model?” she asked. “Because I could swear you said you were wit’ her for most of last year.”

He winced. “It got … complicated. You know, there’s a lot I’m not proud of – but that’s why I’m trying to do better now.”

She sighed. “You know, worst part is, I really believe y’are trying. Just a shame you had to spend four months messing me around first. God, Craig, you can count yourself fuckin' lucky I’m not in love with you either.” She stood up so abruptly her chair tipped back onto the floor. “So I’m gonna go drink enough vodka that I can stop thinking about all the ways I don’t measure up to some poxy English lad. You have a grand night, now.”

Craig was still staring bleakly at his pint when a broad shouldered Welshman picked up Laura’s chair. “So how’d it go?”

Craig shrugged. “Could’ve been worse.”

Gus gave him a shrewd look. “We getting plastered tonight then?”

 Craig opened his mouth only to see Laura stalking back across the bar.

 “And you know what?” she said, as if no time had passed, “Half of Ireland may be a theocratic fecking bog, but this is Dublin and if you hadn’t noticed there’s no goddamn reason to hide in a closet here. Get yourself down The George.”

 Gus stared after her as she marched away once more. “Oh boyo,” he laughed, “you told her _everything_!”


	2. Sarah I (The Library)

As the beeping started, two pairs of feet at opposite ends of the library both scrambled, tripping over chair legs and table corners, racing for the exit.

              John Paul reached the doors first, slammed against them as the automatic system failed to activate. He frantically hit the disabled access button but to no avail. The doors stayed firmly closed.  The other pair of feet came to a halt behind him and he turned and froze.

              “Oh it’s you,” Sarah said in evident disgust. She stepped back and turned as if to go back through the inner doors, which had slid open to let John Paul through just moments earlier, only to smack into them as they too now failed to open.

              John Paul swore. “Those doors must have their outside sensors off when these are locked.”

              “Great!” Sarah said sarcastically. “I’m stuck in a 6 foot glass box with you.  That’s just what I need at the end of a whole day slaving over a stupid, bloody essay when I could have been out in the sun.”

              John Paul rolled his eyes as he rooted around in his jeans pocket to find his phone. “Got half a bar,” he said, frowning at the screen. “You?”

              She pulled her own phone out and then shoved is straight back into her bag. “Nothing.”

              “Well, this isn’t enough for a call,” he muttered, listening to the beeps as his phone failed to connect. “I’ll text Carmel. She can wave her magic PCSO wand and get the security guy to come let us out.”

              He dumped his bag on the floor and slid down against the wall. “We might have a wait on our hands,” he said in a neutral tone.

              She visibly gritted her teeth, and sat down as for from him as she could within the small antechamber.   After two minutes of silence he realised she was glancing furtively at his wrist.

              “What?”

              “I haven’t seen you wear that watch since Craig left.”

              He flinched “Battery’s dead on the other one.”  

              “Doesn’t Kieron mind?”

              John Paul shrugged. “It’s just a watch to him.”

              “Never asked you to explain the inscription?” she needled.

              “Hasn’t seen it.”

              “Well, I guess you always did like relationships with secrets.”

              He rolled his eyes once more. “You got nothing better to do than bitch at me about stuff that happened a year ago?”

              “Not right now, no.”

              He spread his palms out and gave her his most endearing, blue-eyed innocent look. “Come on, Sarah, I thought we were past all this, eh?”

              “Really? You thought you could disrupt my whole life in the most humiliating way possible, then throw it back in my face, and I’d just get over it at the drop of a hat?”

              “I didn’t throw it in your face!”

              She snorted. “What, apart from when you _literally_ engineered me getting an eyeful of you and him tearing each other’s clothes off? And then, when you finally had him all to yourself and you got everything I ever wanted, you just walked away and come running back home.”

              “I didn’t just walk away,” John Paul snapped.  “I begged him to stop acting like he was still in the flipping closet and he couldn’t do it.”

              “Yeah? And I begged him to forget about you and stay with me – I begged him _twice_ – and all he did was look at me with those big brown eyes and say he was sorry but he wanted _you_.”

              John Paul looked at her uncertainly. “You really begged to have him back?”

              “Did he never tell you? Always imagined you both laughing at stupid, gullible me.”

              “Don’t be daft. I didn’t even know you’d have had him back after … you know.”

              “Yeah, well, I would have. But what – he wasn’t out and proud enough for you?”

              “No, it was more than that,” he muttered.

              Sarah subsided and looked at him for a moment. “You know what your problem is? You rush things. You rush into everything and you don’t stop and think about what it’s doing to anyone around you.”

              “No I don-“

              “ _Yes_ , you do. First time you tried to break up with Hannah – you said the first thing that come to you and led her up completely the wrong tree. Never mind what that did to her and me. Once you finally got caught out, you jumped straight out the closet, just throwing it in Hannah’s face. You rushed into things with Spike,” she ticked off a third finger. “You probably gave it all of three seconds thought before text me on Craig’s phone so I’d come and find you. And then, when it didn’t turn out exactly like you wanted, you rushed back here again. And now, you’re rushing things with Kieron. Aren’t you?”

              “ _No_ ,” he said, glaring at her mutinously.

              “Really? He’s been out of his dog collar five minutes and you’re moving in. It’s funny,” she added more quietly, “I’d started to think I could get past what you did to me when I thought you were as miserable as I was. But you took away everything I wanted and then it turns out you just rushed off to jump into bed with someone else you should have left well alone.”

              “You finished?” he asked.

              “Yeah. Question is, are you?” She looked at his wrist again. “If I was Kieron, I’d want to know why you kept that.”

              For a moment John Paul looked stricken. And then there was a noise from the corridor and he scrambled to his feet with visible relief.

              “Library closes at five in the Summer,” the security guard said acerbically as he turned a key in the exterior sensor control.  “If I’ve said it once, I said it a thousand times, and it’s not even re-sit week. I’ll start issuing fines soon. I swear you students think I have nothing better to do!” he called after John Paul’s disappearing back. He sighed and looked Sarah over. “Get on with yer, pet. Don’t let it happen again.”

              She gave a grimace. “Oh, I _definitely_ won’t.”

 

 


	3. The House with Three Corners

_September_

They’d been holding hands pretty much the whole way over – on the train from Chester, the plane, the shuttle bus in from the airport. John Paul felt an almost superstitious conviction that as long as he kept holding on, then this would stay real. But still he expected to find Craig’s hand pulling away when they reached his flat and were faced with _actual real_ people that Craig _actually really knew_.

But then suddenly there they were, standing side by side in the open plan living area of a crumbling maisonette, with three people staring at them, and Craig was edgy and sweaty-palmed but _still_ holding his hand.

A short, dark haired bloke in a Wales rugby shirt leaned back in his chair, eyeing them speculatively. “He said yes, then?”

“Nah, I’m just a figment of his imagination,” John Paul dead-panned and Welsh-bloke gave a shout of laughter.

“Ah, you’ll do, boyo. Welcome to the House with Three Corners. You’ll fit right in ‘ere.”

John Paul looked at Craig. “The house with what?”

Craig sighed. “It’s  - I mean it makes sense in his head. He’s Welsh, Emma’s Irish, I’m English. Three countries. Those school books about the Village with Three Corners? Just – just smile and nod.”

“Smiling and nodding is pretty much the best way to deal with Gus,” the girl with cropped blond hair said, reaching up from the sofa to shake John Paul’s free hand. “I’m Emma. Nice to finally meet you, John Paul.”

“And, erm, this is Laura,” Craig continued, in a carefully neutral tone, nodding at the final member of the group. “She don’t live here.”

“Came back with Emma after lacrosse practice,” the brunette said, ignoring Gus’s comedy grimace and the ‘don’t blame me!’ gestures he was directing at Craig.  She looked them both up and down.  “Wanted to see what all the fuss was about.” Then she gave a genuine smile.  “Tan looks good on you, Craig,” she said.  “And, sure, it’s nice to see you actually looking happy as well.”

Craig smiled back ruefully and ducked his head.

“Well then! Now that little awkwardness is past, pull up a pew!” Gus said. “Tell your uncle Gus all about – was it Thailand?”

“Actually,” Craig said, “we er, we should probably go unpack. Figure out space, laundry. Stuff, um, like that.” And he pulled John Paul through the room as Emma gave an understanding grin.

But then, the minute they were in Craig’s room, he chucked their bags on the floor and pushed John Paul back against the door.  “Do you have any idea,” he said with blistering heat in his voice, “how often I imagined fucking you in here.” And John Paul found that with Craig’s mouth at his throat, and Craig’s hand sliding into his jeans, he wasn’t too worried about meeting real, actual people anymore.

And then a voice boomed out uproariously from the next room. “By the way, boys – this house has very thin doors!”

 

_November_

John Paul woke up on the sofa again. Judging by the taste in his mouth, he’d been sick somewhere last night. Judging by the blanket tangled round his legs and the glass of water he briefly glimpsed on the coffee table, Craig had found him there at some point after he staggered in. Again.

 “Morning, princess.”

Well shit. He’d recognise Gus’ rolled r’s anywhere.

“Can this wait til I’m less hungover?” he groaned.

“You tell me.”

John Paul opened his eyes again at the sound of a piece of paper being waved in his general direction.

“What’s that?”

“’Gone to Scotland with Steph,’” Gus read in ringing tones. “’Back in a week. Call me.’” He gave John Paul a level stare. “I think it’s time we had a chat, you and me.”

His first instinct was to tell Gus to fuck off, but he just glared back instead. And because Gus had never lacked nerve, he pressed on regardless.

“I had the dubious pleasure of nursing our mutual friend through two break-ups last year – including the one which happened right before he got ‘ere,” he added with a significant look. “And we welcomed you into this House with Three Corners because – well frankly he’d been going on about you all year, and it seemed like you might actually make him happy. And because, fact is, we like you, boyo, Emma and me.”  He leaned forward to grip John Paul’s shoulder. “Now, I know you’ve got a lot of reasons to be angry right now. And if it helps, by all means I’ll sit and drink to that bastard brother of yours finding his way rapidly to Hell or the High Court, whichever you’d prefer. But I think it’s time you decided: are you going to take that anger and hold onto it and carry it back home – or are you going to stay and accept it wasn’t Craig’s fault?”

For a moment, all John Paul wanted was to punch Gus in his smug, Valleys-accented mouth. And then he was grabbing the waste paper bin and chucking his guts up all over again.

Gus sighed. “Well, better out than in, so they say.”

 

For a few days it seemed touch and go.  When Craig rang the flat to say he was still alive – even though they had never known to fear otherwise, it was Gus who took the call. But when Craig stepped through the gate at Arrivals, it was John Paul who took one look his battered face and scabbed knuckles and pulled him into a long, long hug.

“I missed you,” he eventually murmured.

Craig leaned back long enough to kiss him, and then pulled him back in tight again.  “I’ve been missing you for weeks.”

“I’m glad you’re still here.”

“Me too, mate.”

 

Later they sat, all four of them, in the House with Three Corners – but now four residents, and watched the Chelsea game in honour of Craig being not-dead. Laura had called to say she was on her way over with her boyfriend, which frankly should have felt weird, but didn’t because they’d had plenty of time to bond over daft things like Craig’s cold feet by now.

“I haven’t been easy to live with recently, have I?” John Paul remarked quietly at half time. Craig’s arm, slung round his shoulder, silently tightened.

“It’s okay,” Emma said. “We know why.”

“I figure I can try and sort myself out a bit. If you’ll let me stay.”

“Of course we will,” Gus said. “And if you need a shoulder to cry on –“ he tapped his shirt sleeve “- mine have excellent absorbent properties. Just ask your boyfriend.”

And then Emma cackled, and John Paul snorted, and Gus ducked as Craig threw a cushion at his head.

             

             

             

 


	4. Sarah II

The first time he spoke to Sarah after leaving home was a drunken phone call out of the blue that October. He stared at her name on the screen, cursing himself for not deleting her number so at least he wouldn’t have had to decide whether to accept the call or not. Then his thumb moved to the green button before he could chicken out.

“Sarah.”

Her voice was strained, as if she’d been crying. “I went to give blood today.”

“That’s – I mean, great, good for you,” he said, mentally scrabbling for something to anchor onto. But there is no anchor point for strange drunken calls from the girl you completely screwed over.

“No, no it’s not _good_. They ask _questions_ , Craig.”

The ground turned to sand beneath him. “What questions?”

“’Have you ever,” she quoted bitterly, “’had sex with a man who has had sex with a man?’” She started crying again, each sob tearing down the line and stabbing him with guilt. “They didn’t want my blood. You _contaminated_ me. You and _him_.”

“Sarah-“ he said helplessly. “Sarah, I’m sorry.”

But she drew a sharp breath. “Go to Hell, Craig.” And the line was dead.

* 

It was over a year before she rang him again. He suspected she’d been drinking this time too, but her voice was steadier by far and to be fair he’d had three _Coronas_ himself, not to mention the painkillers for the lacerations on his face and his twisted shoulder.  He cast a glance at where John Paul sat facing away, laptop open and headphones on, a stack of CDs beside him, and then stood and wandered into the bedroom before he hit Accept.    

“I didn’t know who else to call,” she said. “I don’t know who else would understand.”

“Understand what?” he asked and then it all tumbled out of her – about the expenses-paid trip, and the hotel room, and the booze and the kiss that became something more.  And he listened until she’d finally trailed off and then he couldn’t help but laugh.  “ _Zoe_?”

“Don’t,” she said, hurt and skittish, “don’t laugh at me, Craig.”

“No, no- Sarah I’m not laughing at _you_. I – I’m laughing at _us_. At life. At – never mind. I’m sorry. How does she feel about it?”

“I don’t know. She just wants to go on like it never happened.”

“And is that what you want?”

“ _I don’t know_. I’m so confused and I’m so angry at her for cheating on my Dad, and I’m so angry at myself.  I’m such a mess, Craig.”

He sighed as his eyes came to rest on a photo that still graced his bedroom wall: him and John Paul, Hannah, Sarah and Nancy, piled onto a sofa and laughing, just before it all started falling apart. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“What am I supposed to do now?”

“There’s no rules about how to handle sleeping with your best mate, Sarah.”

“What did you do?”

“ _Me_?” he laughed incredulously. “You can’t seriously think I’m a good example here? I freaked out, didn’t I? I was a complete bastard to you, I was vicious to John Paul and then I tried to pretend it had never happened, until it happened again and I couldn’t pretend anymore.”

“When – when did it happen?”

He frowned at his phone. “I thought you knew. Didn’t he tell you everything, you know, _that_ night?”

“I lied,” she said in a flat voice. “I wanted to hurt you, I wanted you to feel as humiliated as I did. All he did was show me that watch you gave him.  And you’d been so up and down all Summer, so weird about Spike ever since you met him, I couldn’t even trust my own memories to figure it out. How’d it happen, Craig?”

“Do you really want to talk about this?” he asked, sinking onto his bed.

“Yes.”

He sighed. “That- that exam I walked out of. Every time I saw John Paul with Spike I got more and more wound up until I felt like was gonna go out my mind, and then that day I just snapped.  I went over to the McQueens’, knocked back two shots of – I dunno, something – got really emotional and then I kissed him.”

“And then?”

“And then it was a lot more than kissing. Come on, Sarah, you don’t want that kind of detail.”

“Yes I-“

“ _No_ ,” he said again. “It’s not going to help you figure out what to do about Zoe.”

“It might,” she said, her voice straining. “How did you know? How did you know you wanted _that_ badly enough to throw everything else out the window? Was- was it _better_?”

“ _What_? _No_. Sarah, no, it – it wasn’t about one kind of sex versus another. It was about who I was doing it with.”  He leaned forward and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, you remember that ball at school when Hannah saw us-“

“You said he kissed you.” Her voice was brittle.

 “I know I said that. I – I even believed it, it’s what I told myself – well, for months after. But it’s not true. I kissed him. It was me. We were messing around and talking, and there was just this feeling – like he was the most amazing thing in the whole world. Like, if I was with him, there was nothing in the world I couldn’t do.” Suddenly his voice faltered as he saw a pair of legs out of the corner of his eye and looked up to see John Paul leaning in the doorway, eyes fixed on him.  “And I didn’t even think about it,” he continued, gaze locked with John Paul’s. “It just swelled up and spilled out of me and I kissed him. It was always there. I just didn’t understand what I was feeling until later.”

John Paul levered himself off the doorframe and walked over to silently press his lips to Craig’s hair before stretching out on the bed behind him.

“You said you loved me that night.” Sarah’s voice came back to him quietly.

“I know. And – and I did. That’s what made it all such a head-fuck, you know?”

“Do you think I’m bi, Craig?”

He glanced reflexively back at where John Paul still lay quietly, and reached to take his hand as he replied. “Sarah, we can’t all fit into nice neat boxes. It’s easy for John Paul – he just like blokes.  It’s easy for Kris – he fancies anything with a pulse and he knows it. But some of us … are just, I dunno, not quite straight. And that’s okay.”

“Slightly bent?” she mused with bleak humour.

He chuckled. “Yeah, some of us are slightly bent.  You know, the funny thing about nearly being murdered by a psychopath is it makes you think about what you’d do different.  And if I could go back in time, I would never've dragged you into all that mess. I'd never've hurt you the way I did.  But I wouldn’t not kiss John Paul. And maybe all that matters is if you’d still kiss Zoe if you could go back a week?”

“I don’t know.” She gave a half sob. “I’ve been so lonely, Craig. I’m so tired of being let down and hurt.  And lately it seemed like Zoe was the only person I could rely on. And now maybe I’ve ruined everything.”

“Loneliness ain’t love,” he said pensively. “Look, Sarah, you don’t have to figure this out all in one go. Maybe you really do like women too. Maybe you were drunk and lonely and Zoe’s someone you trust. Who the fuck cares? It’s no one’s business but yours. Get on with being friends and if it’s meant to be more, it’ll happen.”

She was silent for a long moment.  “When did you develop emotional depths?”

He gave a weak laugh.  “I got dumped at the airport, didn’t I? Gave me some time to think.” John Paul squeezed his fingers tight. “And then there was the whole murderous psychopath thing.”

“I’m sorry, Craig, I should have asked – is Steph alright?”

“Yeah, thanks. I think she’ll be ok.” After another pause he grinned and added, “So is it too soon to make a joke about threesomes? Because I would totally have-“

“Oh for God’s sake, Craig!” she cried. “Sod off.” 

He looked at his phone as she hung up. “Too soon,” he said aloud.

“Do you think I should slap you on her behalf?”

He laughed and eased back to lie beside John Paul. “Nah, she’s not the violent kind. How much of all that did you hear then?”

“Most of it. I’d finished writing my set when the phone went anyway.”

“Do you mind?”

“What, you giving advice on sexuality crises to your ex girlfriend? No. If she really wants your terrible adv- hey, no, tickling’s cheating!” John Paul cried. “Arg - alright! I’m sorry!”

They subsided and lay quietly for a moment, fingers intertwined. Then John Paul leaned over and kissed him.  “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“What for?”

“Admitting you kissed me first. Not letting Niall kill you.”

“Ah well,” Craig said, “I’d only have had to come back and haunt you. You ain't getting rid of me that easily, mate.”

And it shouldn't have been funny, because Keiron had probably wanted to live just as much as Craig had, but somehow it was, and for the first time in weeks there was just laughter, and easy kisses and then sudden, startlingly intense sex. And then, at last, falling slowly asleep tangled in each other’s arms, with  John Paul’s inarguable, drowsy observation, that the universe sure as hell had a weird sense of humour.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, in 2007 the British blood donation service excluded men who slept with men, and women who slept with those men. After posting this I realised that HO did a plot line about the gay men exclusion in Summer 2008 but many universities host blood drives in the autumn term so this remains plausible!
> 
> My interpretation of Sarah's one night stand with Zoe is very much based on things Loui Bately said in interviews at the time.


	5. Spike

“Hey, have you seen this?”

Craig looked critically at the printed flyer John Paul was shoving under his nose for a moment until his eyes landed on one name.

“No. No way.”

“Oh, come on, we’re going anyway. I bet he can get us VIP passes or something. I could send him a message and ask.”

“I do _not_ want to hang around backstage with your ex on _my_ birthday.”

“Craig it’s not your birthday _all_ weekend. I mean it’s a 3-day festival, we can spend _one_ evening listening to Spike. He’s a _good_ DJ.”

“You’re better,” Craig said mulishly.

“I used to be,” John Paul laughed ruefully. “But he’s gigging and touring full time these days – not getting distracted by Webster and a bunch of dead Russians.”

“Three more weeks and we can forget all about fricking Nabokov,” Emma said as she and Gus returned with four pints between them and she slid onto the bench next to John Paul.  “But don’t pretend you aren’t loving the guts and gore in Webster.”

“So what’s the news, then, boys?” Gus asked.

“There’s a DJ we know from home playing the Arcadia at Glasto, but Craig isn’t keen.”

Emma reached for the flyer as Craig gave a truculent sneer. “No way!” she cried when she saw the highlighted section. “You know _him_? He’s awesome.”

Craig stared at her in appalled incredulity. “You’ve heard him?”

“Sure, he played Pride here two years back – you were off on your travels. I had to drag poor Gus along with me.  So how do you boys know him? Think he’ll let us backstage wit’ him?”

Craig groaned and dropped his head in his hands. “I do not want to hang around with bloody Spike!”

 

Emma let out a suppressed eek as Spike – a slightly broader and much beardier Spike - walked into the Glastonbury hospitality zone where they’d found themselves a table an hour earlier.

“John Paul, good to see you,” he grinned, slapping the younger man on the back in a hug.

“What is _that_ on your face?!”

“Oh this? Festival season. Easier than trying to shave in a tent half the summer. Have no fear, it’ll go in September. Who’s your smiling friend?”

John Paul introduced Emma who almost bounced off her stool as she shook his hand. “Saw you playing Dublin two years back – and then Manchester last Summer. Can’t wait for your set tonight.”

“Turns out I’ve been living with a real life Spike Jones fan,” John Paul with a smile.

Spike gave an exaggerated bow. “Always a pleasure,” he said in comedy smarmy tones. “And, er, Craig,” he added in a level voice as he sat down. “Nice to see you again.”

“Spike,” Craig nodded.

“Eloquent as ever, I see.”

“Hey, don’t start winding him up,” John Paul laughed. “I’ve got to deal with him for the rest of the weekend after you’ve swanned off to your set.”

Spike held up his hands. “Best behaviour, I swear. So, tell me your news. How come you ended up out in Dublin too? Last I remember you were at HCC.”

“Sure, it was seriously romantic, it was,” Emma said. “Craig went off to India for three months and picked y’one there up on the way back.”

“Never had you down as the romantic kind, Craig,” Spike said with a smirk.

Craig silently rolled his eyes as John Paul spluttered: “Romantic? Makes me sound like some tropical disease, more like.”

“Well, y’ _were_ all over him like a rash the first month,” she teased.

“And you wonder why we’re moving out the flat this Summer?”

“Oh no,” she laughed, “I don’t wonder at all. I’ve had the room above yours for two years, so I have.”

“Seriously,” Craig butted in, “it is too bloody hot to listen to you two bickering. It’s worse than having Gus and Laura in one room. Thanks for these,” he said to Spike with some visible effort as he flashed the orange wristband which had been waiting for them at check-in. “Couldn’t find shade anywhere til we got in here.”

“No worries,” Spike said. “I was around for set up and they were handing some out then. Least I could do when John Paul asked me so nicely. Oh, and I had a word with some mates who’re on security round the Pyramid and told them it’s your birthday tomorrow, so we can hopefully get you right up close for Muse – that’s if you don’t mind me tagging along to get you in?” he added.

Craig’s mouth dropped. “That’s – I mean – No, no, course I don’t mind. That’s brilliant. Th-thanks,” he stammered, eyes wide. “Let me, um – you want a drink? We’re all due another round.”

“Yeah, a lager would be great,” Spike said with a small smile. “And water, if they’re still handing it out.”

“I’ll go give him a hand with all that,” Emma said tactfully and rose to follow.

“She’s nice.”

“Yeah,” John Paul said, his eyes on Craig and Emma at the bar. “Mad, but nice.”

There was a pause before Spike spoke again.  “You’re allowed to tell me you told me so, you know.”

“Eh?” John Paul dragged his attention back to the table.

“Him. I had him down as just another wanna-be straight guy cruising for some action on the side. Never thought you’d end up properly together.”

John Paul gave a slight grimace. “I, er, kind of forced the issue in the end.”

“The big party – I heard. You know Frankie wouldn’t let Darren have me back in the pub after that. Guilty by association, I guess.”

John Paul winced. “Sorry mate – there was no need for her to do that.”

He grinned. “Yeah, but if I’d had a steady gig in Chester, I’d never have played so many odd slots in Manchester, and then I wouldn’t be _here_.”

“Ah!” John Paul grinned back. “So a couple of wrist bands is a pretty good deal for having booted you to success.”

Spike gave him a wink. “It all worked out in the end. And have you _seen_ the guys who hang around the DJ boxes on Canal Street?”

“That, er, was never really my way of picking up blokes,” John Paul said ruefully.

“No, I guess snogging them at school discos was more your thing,” Spike teased, giving a sidelong glance to where Craig still stood at the bar.  “So was it all worth it? Life in Dublin everything you could want?”

“Yeah,” John Paul. “I mean, well, yeah.”

“That sounds like a ‘but’.”

John Paul shrugged. “It’s great, it really is, they let me transfer into the same year as Craig and Emma, I’ve been DJing at the union and some clubs when I can. Dublin’s an awesome place.”

“But?”

“But, then things like that happen,” he said with a nod towards the bar where Craig was gallantly making room for the girl beside him, and letting his eyes travel over her chest as he did so.  By the time Spike followed his gaze, however, the moment had past. “I know he loves me, and it’s all out in the open now, and there’s no secrets or hiding. But – I dunno. I wish he’d actually stop avoiding the word gay. He doesn’t even call himself bi.”

“Sure he does, when he has to choose,” Emma said in a sharp tone, reappearing beside them, four water bottles in her arms. “So he doesn’t like being labelled, can you blame him when you gay boys are so bloody bi-phobic? Bad as the fucking lesbians at school. God forbid I should like Brad _and_ Angelina. Called me a traitor to womankind for snogging the headteacher’s son.”

 “I don’t have a problem with anyone being bi,” John Paul objected. “I’m friends with you, aren’t I? And Kris back at home. I _nominated_ Callum for Q-soc president.”

“As long as it’s not your fella, anyway, aye?” She responded in a gentler voice as she sat back down and leaned her elbows on the table with a sigh. “You just never know how lucky y’are, John Paul. Fucking gorgeous boyfriend in your bed every night, king of the SU, fan-bloody-tastic housemates,” she added with a self-deprecating grin. “Was he always like this?” she asked Spike. “Never knowing what a good thing he’s onto?”

John Paul opened his mouth to protest. “Oh definitely,” Spike replied with a smile. “But then I’m a bit biased.”

 

Spike found them crashed out by their tent on Saturday afternoon. Craig was careful not to dislodge John Paul’s head from his lap as he sat up on his elbows.

“He still looks about 12 when he’s sleeping,” Spike observed quietly, hunkering down on his heels, his eyes crinkling gently at the edges.

Craig ruffled John Paul’s hair affectionately. “Yeah, don’t he just. Emma just went to refill her water,” he added. “I’ll wake him up when she gets back, and we can go.”

“Great.” Spike sat down in the shade of the tent to Craig’s left and stretched out his legs. “Oh yeah, happy birthday.”

Craig nodded. “Thanks man. And – thanks again for this.”

“I told you,” Spike said. “Least I could do. John Paul really wanted you to have a good birthday.”

“Yeah, well, it’s really cool of you to help when you din’t have to. Especially -" He broke off awkwardly.

“Especially since you were sleeping with my boyfriend behind my back three years ago?” Spike asked lightly.

Craig froze and gave him a sidelong glance. “I wasn’t sure you knew that.”

Spike gave an amused roll of his eyes. “It wasn’t hard to work out once I realised you were together.”

“It wasn’t like – I mean, it was only – he wasn’t like me,” Craig said eventually. “He wanted to do the right thing once we realised it wasn’t a one-off. Once I realised.”

“I know,” Spike reassured him. “Honest, I do. He was always a sweet kid at heart. And for what it’s worth - I’m really glad I was wrong about you.”

Craig did a double take and then broke out in a grin. He leaned across to bump Spike’s fist. “You too, mate. You too.”

“Right then, birthday boy,” came Emma’s voice from behind them. “We ready to rock and roll?”

 

The night was hot and the crowd was electric and Craig rode the wave of elation bouncing back and forth between the mass of people behind them and the musicians on stage, so close he could almost touch them.  TV cameras were swooping over their heads on wires and Spike and Emma were jumping to the beat in his peripheral vision but he grabbed John Paul by the neck of his t-shirt and kissed him long and hard.

“Best birthday ever!” he cried over the chanting and clapping. “I fucking love you, John Paul McQueen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I thought long and hard about including the biphobia-in-LGBT-spaces conversation, especially as it was Guy Burnet who insisted Craig shouldn't be labelled as bi at the time. But the way that John Paul repeatedly accused him of pretending to fancy Sarah is actually one example of the difficulties some bi folk have. Emma's experiences are based directly on things said to a bi friend of mine in the noughties. I'm glad to say the LGBTQA-soc in question seems much more bi-friendly these days.
> 
> Also, I have no idea if Trinity Q-soc ever had a bi president called Callum. I trawled through the set lists for Glastonbury 2010, but couldn't get a list of former society officers online. :)


	6. Ste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I stopped watching Hollyoaks in 2009/10 ish. The below is based on a fairly basic understanding of plot developments up to early 2017.  
> 

 There had been a lot of beer and a lot of talking, and somehow they got from footie and village gossip to the things John Paul would never normally talk about, not even to Myra or Sally half the time.  But Ste wasn’t just anyone after all and who better to hear the doubts that lingered in the corners of his mind day in, day out?

 “You know what your problem is?” Ste said thoughtfully.

“I rush things?” John Paul responded morosely, barely controlling a flinch at the memories that brought back.

“What? Well, yeah, I s'pose you do, but then so do I, eh? No, your problem is you’re not all there,” Ste pronounced as if that solved everything.

“Eh? Well thanks a bloody bunch. I’m not even thirty yet.”

“No, I don’t mean like _that_. I mean in _here_.” He tapped John Paul’s chest, somewhere near the middle which may have been intended to indicate his heart. “Part of your, your, like, _soul_ is missing. And you’re never really gonna be happy til you sort that out. I mean, I know you loved me but, right, only the part of you that’s actually _here_ was able to love me. The other part…”

“Wha - oh. No, no, Ste don’t start on this.” As if John Paul hadn’t had to have this conversation with Carmel more than once after moving home.

“Oh come on, think about it. It shouldn’t be a surprise. What happened, eh? It all fell apart in Dublin, right, and you came straight back here, moved back into the house where you and Craig first got together,  the house where you got _back_ together when Kieron – well anyway. You walk past the Dog every day. You _work_ at the same bloody school. How were you supposed to move on with all that in your face?”

“Ste, I’m am _not_ still in love with Craig.”

“Don’t be daft, course you are. It’s first love, innit? I should know. And we tried you and me, but maybe, I dunno, maybe neither of us were quite whole and so we didn’t have enough ... _whatever_ to make it work.”

“And you’re all better now, are you?” John Paul snarked. “Harry fill the hole?”

“Maybe. I’m getting there, any road.” Ste resolutely resisted rising to the bait, which was, John Paul reflected, a bloody miracle given how much they’d drunk.

“So what, you think I should…” He spread his hands out helplessly.

“Look I’m not saying you should go back to Dublin or 'owt. I’m just saying, maybe you’re never really going to move on here. Maybe if you want to move on, you need to be somewhere you can really start fresh.”

John Paul rolled his eyes. “Like I’m going to take relationship advice from someone who can’t even walk in a straight line. You’re so wasted you’re not even going to remember this tomorrow.”

Ste peered at him through one eye. “What’s that thing they say in France about booze and truth?”

“In vino veritas. Latin, not French.”

“Thassit. They knew stuff, the Romans.” He dropped his head back and smiled. “So who told you you rush things? Cos that’s dead true, that. Not like I can talk, o' course.”

John Paul grimaced. “Sarah, a few weeks before I moved to Dublin. One of the last times I ever spoke to her.”

Ste nodded sagely. “She knew a thing or two, too, did Sarah.  Never thought I was good enough for Amy.”

“Hey, don’t be like that.” John Paul said.

“No, no, it was true then. B- _hic_ – bad influence.”  He closed his eyes as his head lolled on the sofa and then started to laugh. “Fills the hole. Nice one.” He laughed some more and then went suspiciously quiet.

John Paul tapped his shoulder. “You want to crash on here tonight?”

Ste started, eyes wide open. “No, no, I can still walk.” He patted John Paul’s leg. “Good chat, mate.”

As he reached the door, jacket haphazardly buttoned up, he started chuckling again. “’Fills the hole’. Man,” he said, tapping his nose as he stepped back into the dark, “you have no idea!”

 

 

 


	7. Emma

_March_

Craig gave Laura a very decorous kiss on the cheek as he reached the receiving line “You look beautiful,” he told her. “I’m dead pleased for you both,” he added, shaking the groom’s hand.

“She _looks_ ,” Emma remarked as they sat at the table after dinner, “like she was up half the night with nerves. And if I don’t look like I was up half the night with her, you can thank that beautician she’d  booked for us. Bloody genius with concealer.”

“Yeah well,” Craig sighed, “that’s what you get for agreeing to be bridesmaid. I still can’t believe she got you to wear a dress.”

“I’ve a heart of gold, me,” Emma mused, taking a swig from her glass of champagne. “Now that one's a nine,” she said, eyes on the woman in a gold shift dress as she walked past.

His eyes followed her gaze. “Seven and a half,” he said. “Tits are too big.”

“And you call yourself a man,” Emma smirked.

“A handful’s a manful, any more’s a waste,” Craig quoted.

“Now the best man, though,” she continued. “He’s _got_ to be a nine.”

Craig gave her a warning look. “Don’t start.”

“Why not?” she grinned. “Get back on the wagon.”

“I told you,” he said. “I tried going back on that wagon and-”

“I know, I know,” she said. “John Paul ruined you for all other men.”

“I don’t reckon that was the way I put it,” he said, dryly.

“Why isn’t he here, anyway?”

He raised his eyebrows. “How the fuck should I know? But here’s a guess – he’s a teacher and Laura took it into her head to get married on a Friday. Probably couldn’t get the day off.”

“Did you hear-“

“ _Emma_ ,” he growled. “I told you last time you swanned back into Dublin – I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t want to know, whatever it is.”

“This time you might wanna-“

“ _No_.”

And he managed for a good half hour until his mum screwed the whole damn thing up. Emma took one look at his white face when she arrived back from the bar and said, “Oh god, you know, don’t you?”

He wordlessly handed her his phone with the text still open. “Decided this merited breaking my ban on John Paul related gossip,” he said. “She didn’t think it merited a phone call, apparently, but that’s Mum for you.” He grabbed the drink from her hand and downed it in one. “I’m gonna need some more.”

Several shots of Jack Daniels later, and he was talking about John Paul as if they’d only split up yesterday.  “What the fuck was I supposed to do? Spend the rest of my life pretending I don’t notice hot birds? As if he didn’t watch that fucking _Prison Break_ boxset three times a year.”

But then he hit the weepy drunk stage. And it wasn’t as if Emma hadn’t listened to him pour his heart out about how nothing was worth it without John Paul before, but last time had been three years ago and it hadn’t seemed unreasonable just 12 months out of a hideous, complex break up in which he was clearly as much to blame as the man he was missing.

“Craig,” she said eventually, “you’ve got to talk to him.”

He shook his head. “It’s all too messed up,” he moaned. “It was unforgivable, walking out. I was unforgivable.  I just didn’t know what else to do.”

“Well, you changed your mind, didn’t you? That’s what you told me last time you got this drunk – you changed your mind and you went back, and he was gone.” She leaned forward and gripped his arm. “Craig, if you don’t call him now, it’s going to be a lot more than the Irish Sea between you.”

“What would be the point when nothing’s changed? I could never make him understand. _I_ don’t understand. I don’t even have his number anymore.”

“Ah well,” Emma said. “I can help you wit’ that last one, so I can.” 

And then five minutes later, and nearly 200 miles away, John Paul sat staring at his phone in shock.

 

_June_

John Paul opened his laptop and saw an email alert on the desktop: “Fwd: sexuality spectrums – PLURAL!”

 _I make sense!_ Craig had typed. _JFC, John Paul, I make sense! This is amazing! I’m bi and a 2A1B and THIS IS NORMAL!!!_

He scrolled down to see an email to Craig from Emma. _Saw this and thought of you,_ she’d written. _And I had to type the whole thing out cos I didn’t have my phone with me, so be fucking grateful!_

And there it was, definitions of primary sexuality, and secondary sexuality, and asexuality, and a grid of how these things could operate differently with different genders of partner. And she’d put a big X in 2A1B: feeling sexual attraction immediately with one gender, and only once a strong emotional bond was formed with the other.

 _It’s funny_ , he wrote back. _I was going to say I wish Emma had been full of such wisdom back when we used to argue about this stupid crap in Dublin. But I have a feeling it’s sort of what she was trying to tell us all along. I just wish we’d paid more attention._

And, after a moment’s thought, he CC’d her in for good measure.

 _Damn right you should_ , she replied. _So listen to me now and figure out this whole Ireland-Singapore thing, aye?_

And it was hard to argue with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've invented the 2A1B code, but I did read an article a few weeks ago about primary versus secondary sexuality and thought it was perfect for McDean. I'm not going to write a full reunion story, although there's some post reunion scenes to come, because Rachel_Riot has already done such an amazing job there's really no point anyone else bothering now! If you haven't already, go read that :) https://archiveofourown.org/works/13936827


	8. Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well Hannah chapter's still giving me headaches but I was hit by inspiration after checking some post-2009 details on Wikipedia and seeing that the Osbournes went down to London for Christmas after Steph died, and this was the result.

2010

“Come on, we want to get the through train from Crewe don’t we?”

“You know this would all have been a lot easier if you’d bought your mum something we could post.”

“Would it heck,” John Paul retorted, shifting the heavy bag on his shoulder and tugging Craig along with his other hand. “If she’d found out we’d swanned past Cheshire on our way to spend Christmas with your lot in London, there’d have been Hell to pay and you know it.”

“Yeah, well that was not a quick in and out and cup of tea,” Craig grumbled.

“Be grateful it was just sandwiches and not a three course Sunday dinner.”

As they rounded the corner to the station, Craig stopped dead and seemed to perform a whole-body flinch, his hand reflexively pulling away.

“What the hell?”

“ _Sonny_?”

A familiar face in a not-so-familiar police constable uniform came to a halt in front of them.  “Well lads,” he said, “long time no see. You back for Christmas?”

“On our way to his sister’s,” John Paul said, with a held tilt in Craig’s direction. “What brings you back?”

Sonny lifted the bunch of flowers in his hand. “Thought I’d visit Calvin’s grave, bit overdue, you know? But I finally finished training last month so, it seemed time…”

Craig stayed silent, gaze half on the horizon, as John Paul asked, “Are you going to see Carmel while you’re here? Or, well, Theresa?”

“Don’t want to intrude,” Sonny replied, raising his hand to the taxi approaching. “Maybe next time. Tell Michs I said hi, though. Have a good Christmas, lads.”

 

“Well how was I to know he’d had a personality transplant?”

John Paul stabbed the button for Debbie’s floor and the lift doors slid shut. “It shouldn’t matter. I thought we were past all that.”

“What, past walking smack into the fucking epicentre of queer-bashing from school? That twat was the whole reason we didn’t talk for three bloody months – we’d never have had that fight – I mean I’d never have punched you, if I hadn’t had Sonny on my back half the year already.”

“I can’t believe he could get you acting all ashamed all over again.”

“I’m not ashamed!” Craig cried, stepping out of the lift. “I saw the guy who made my life hell for months. I panicked. Can we stop talking about this? It’s going to be a fucking awful Christmas without Steph as it is. I don’t need this.”

John Paul suddenly deflated. “Alright. Alright, I’m sorry.”

They hadn’t even knocked when the apartment door was flung open and Craig was enveloped in his big sister’s arms. “You made it!” she cried. One arm reached out and John Paul was pulled into the hug too, both of them getting a kiss on the cheek.  “Mum was convinced you’d miss your train or Myra would keep you hostage.”

“No chance, sis.”

Debbie pulled them inside and John Paul was forced to remember again what a whole room full of Deans – and Osbournes – felt like as Frankie lavished her favourite son with kisses, and Darren made camp jokes, and Jack insisted on opening the whiskey now everyone was here, and Jake and Tom looked awkward in the corner, while Debbie called out instructions as she chivvied her partner Sebastian into the kitchen to fetch glasses.  Even the new girl Esther threw herself into things, as if she’d known them all her entire life.  It wasn’t quite a McQueen bash, and Steph left a gaping hole that it was clear everyone was trying to ignore, but it felt a lot like home.

 

John Paul had long learned that if Frankie put mental and even physical barriers between her son and whole concept of sex with another bloke, Debbie was on their side every step of the way. Sure, they had their own double bed back in Dublin, but he still had to love her when Debbie overruled her mother and installed them in the study while Darren, Jake and Esther camped in the living room.  There may be limits to what can be done on an airbed, but nothing could beat a Christmas morning blow job. (Not even that year when he was 15 and Jacqui had made sure his first set of decks was waiting under the tree.) Anything was tolerable, really, with the taste of Craig’s salty kisses in his mouth.

And if he was brutally honest, he took a perverse pleasure in talking to Frankie sometimes, hearing the supercilious tone in her voice, and knowing that he was fucking her son regardless. So he didn’t try to escape when she volunteered him to help her wash up the crystal wine glasses after dinner, despite Craig and Darren sharing a pair of very alarmed grimaces. Truth was, too, that there’d been a moment at dinner, when they’d all toasted Steph, and Frankie had looked so empty, as lost as his own mother had been that day after Tina died. And he couldn’t quite resent her after that.

Perhaps she’d been thinking the same thing because she remarked, as she handed him a wet goblet to polish: “I’d ask Myra if the empty place at Christmas ever feels less painful, but I'm fairly sure she’d tell me it hasn’t yet.”

”No,” he replied softly. “It gets easier to remember the good stuff though. We usually toast her,” he added. “Me and Craig. Before bed on Christmas Day.”

“I know, love,” Frankie said. “Debbie made sure I picked up some extra whiskey especially. Couldn’t be sure Jack wouldn’t drink it all first.” As she handed him another glass she continued: “I always wanted the best for my kids – wanted them to reach their potential, in all respects. After everything Steph went through – the head injury and epilepsy, losing Max, building a new life with Tom and then Gilly – I wish she’d got to enjoy that life for longer. Because it was that potential for happiness which mattered most.” She looked him in the eyes at last. “You brought out prejudices in me that I didn’t know I had, John Paul. But if you make my son happy, then that’s good enough for me.

“It’s funny really,” she added in a lighter tone. “I always blamed Johnno, but with Esther now as well, it looks like it runs on my side.”

 

He told Craig later. After they’d had their private toast to Tina and added Steph for good measure. After they’d somehow managed some cramped but pretty-hot-actually vertical sex against the bookcase full of Debbie’s musical scores. As they lay curled up together on the inflatable mattress.

“I just wish-“ he added, then stopped.

“What?”

“I wish I could be sure you wouldn’t have been happier if you’d fallen in love with a woman.”

Craig went still and stopped stroking his hair. “I _was_ in love with a woman. And I was still happier playing footie in the mud with you than lying on golden fucking sands in a Greek paradise with her. You make me happier than anyone else ever could. But I don’t know how to make you believe it if you still don’t.”

John Paul found he had nothing else to say.

 

2017

 

They line up four shot glasses.

“Tina,” John Paul says as Craig fills the first glass.

“Steph,” Craig fills the second, “and Carmel.”

“Frankie,” John Paul adds quietly as the fourth shot is poured.

Craig hesitates, then grabs another glass and fills it. “Kieron.”

John Paul looks at him in surprise. “Are you sure?”

Craig nods. "You loved him, didn't you." It isn't a question. 

Then John Paul picks up a sixth glass and places it carefully at the end of the line. “Sarah.”

Craig swallows, then nods and pours again.

Outside the last rays of sunset are lighting up the Singapore skyline. Inside Matthew’s new Lego Millennium Falcon sits half-built beside the open Glenfiddich gift box. _Drink a wee dram for me, boys_ , the label reads in Jack’s handwriting.

Craig raises the first glass. “Merry Christmas.”

 


	9. Hannah

“So what’s different this time?” she asked, sipping a raspberry mojito and giving him an uncharacteristically piercing look.

He shrugged. “Me. I’m different.  All that paranoia and self-righteousness. I had to face- well,” he broke off.

“Face what?”

John Paul let out a long breath as he stirred the remains of his cocktail. “Truth is,” he said with a   weird knot in his stomach and a slight catch in his voice, “I think I’m a bit of a shit, deep down. Everything I did those last few years in Hollyoaks, I kept telling myself it wasn’t my fault and yeah maybe some of it was trauma but even before, you know, _that_ , I was still being a selfish shit half the time.”

Hannah gave an ironic smile. “This is probably the part where I’m supposed to completely disagree, isn’t it? But yeah, you can be selfish and you can be a shit. You certainly were with me. But, John Paul,” she said, reaching out to take his hand across the table, “that’s not all you are.”

He squeezed her fingers and met her gaze. “I told myself so many times that it was Craig making me such a drama queen back in the day, that if it weren’t for him I’d have been the nice guy I wanted to be. But I had four years without him and I was no better. Worse even, because, you know Ste was right – I was broken and half empty and I kept trying to move on but nothing ever worked and I just made one bad decision after another.”

“And now?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Leaving home again helped. Realising I created most of my own problems helped some more. And this time – I dunno, Han. I’ve just stopped trying to make him into what I thought I wanted him to be and realised he is who he is, and I love him as he is. I always did.”

Hannah gave a slow smile. “Alright,” she said, standing and picking up her handbag as she swept her long hair back from the shoulders of her smart linen suit. “I’ll help. Can you get a Friday off work in about a month?”

“Probably,” John Paul said, standing with her. “If I explain why to the Head and point out it’s that or spending a month in Manila.”

“Okay then.” She gave him a hug. “I have to get to my next flight but I’ll make some calls when I’m back in the office tomorrow.”

“Oh, Han,” he breathed, “that would be amazing. I don’t deserve you.”

“No,” she said dryly, “you never did. But – we’re mates and mates help each other out, don’t they?”

 

*

 

Craig tried to pull his arm away, only to find Hannah grabbing it again and firmly taking the small box from his hand.

“Stop being silly,” she told him.

“Hannah, it’s 40 degrees out there.”

“Well it’s lucky the High Commission has such good air-con then, isn’t it?”

“But this is just about the piece of paper. You _do_ understand that?”

“ _Yes_ , but that doesn’t mean you can’t make an effort.”

“John Paul!” he called out plaintively, “she’s tryin’a make me wear cufflinks!”

John Paul stuck his head round the door. “Just humour her, eh? She’s pulled a lot of strings for us this week. And anyway,” he added, “you _know_ you look smoking hot in proper cuffs.”

Craig rolled his eyes but held out his wrist with a small smile playing around his mouth. “I’m doin’ this under protest.”

“Protest heard and acknowledged,” Hannah said as John Paul withdrew with a laugh.  “But I didn’t fly all the way up from Jakarta for you to embarrass me in front of my old boss.”

“I don’t wanna jinx things,” Craig added more quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not this time. Not when it’s all going so well.”

“I know,” she said gently, taking his other arm and adjusting the cuff. “You’ve both got plenty of reasons to be wary of this stuff. I get it, believe me. And I know this is all just so you can get the visa for the move. But one day, you might want to look back to today and have some nice memories. Trust me, five years in the Foreign Office, I’ve seen enough quick paperwork jobs to know that.”

Craig looked at her with narrowed eyes. “What else you got up your sleeve, then?”

But Hannah just smiled and said nothing.

 

In the end it was quicker than even Craig had expected. A brief legal monologue, four signatures – himself, John Paul, Hannah and the High Commissioner’s wife, Lady Bennet (“Haven’t seen darling Hannah since we were posted in Shanghai – so glad to help out”) – and they held the document in their hands. Matthew had barely had time to watch one episode of _Octonauts_ on the iPad. Hannah insisted on taking one posed photo. “Just in case you need it for your immigration interviews,” she pointed out with annoying logic. But otherwise it was as low key as they could possibly have wished.  He could even bear the afternoon tea she’d organised on the balcony with relative equanimity.

“Well that weren’t so bad,” he remarked to John Paul as they sipped Pimms and admired the gardens.

“No,” the other man agreed, slipping his free hand into Craig’s.  “And, you know, it’s nice to be able to hold hands outdoors for a change, eh?”

“Yeah.” Craig smiled as he looked down at their linked fingers. “It’ll be good, moving, won’t it? Not having to worry about all that.”

“We can even go back to snogging in public.”

“Steady on,” Craig laughed with a comedy grimace. “Don’t want to give anyone a heart attack.”

“It’s San Francisco, I think they’ll be fine.”

They sat in contented quiet for a few moments, as Hannah, Sir Christopher and Lady Bennet all entertained Matthew with stories about China and fed him too much cake. Then Craig suddenly grinned again and said, “Here, can you imagine your mum’s face?”

“Or Debbie’s,” John Paul countered.

“Or _Nancy’s_.”

John Paul laughed. “They’d have our guts for garters.”

“Better this way though.”

“Well,” John Paul said, raising his glass, “here’s to legal formalities, and thwarting mums and sisters and best friends alike.”

Their eyes met, and from across the table Hannah watched as the biggest, most dazzling smiles slowly broke across their faces.

“Just a piece of paper, my eye,” she murmured to no one in particular.

 

The table was cleared away and they were heading to the door when Hannah pulled them both to one side. 

“I have a present for you,” she said.

“I knew she was up to something,” Craig grumbled, although he was suppressing a smile.

From her handbag she drew two toothbrushes and a key.  “I’ll take Matthew back to your place tonight. You’re staying in the guest suite here.”

“ _Hannah!_ ” John Paul gasped.

“I was going to book you a hotel room, but I didn’t want you to be paranoid about getting reported, so. I asked Lady B nicely, it’s a British staff, you’re technically on British soil. You deserve a night to yourselves, without having to trip over Lego or dirty laundry.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Craig said. “Thank you. This wasn’t meant to be- But, well, thanks.”

She smiled and hugged them both. “We’ll meet you for lunch at the Botanic Gardens up the road tomorrow – okay?”

The suite was elaborately ornate with white marble and gold leaf, and a wooden four poster bed.  A finger buffet and champagne were laid out on a side table, with an ice bucket filled with imported _Carling_ beside.  Jasmine scented air wafted in through the muslin drapes. 

“What do you think she did to win them over in Shanghai?” John Paul wondered out loud as they stared around.

“God knows. Saved their first born?”

“She never did do things by halves.”

“Makes it feel kinda real, don’t it.”

“Yeah,” John Paul breathed.

“Weren’t really the plan.”

“No. Still, might as well make the most of it, eh?”

But his amused smirk faded as Craig turned to look him in the eye, their faces bathed in rose-tinted light, and changed into something a bit like awe.  Craig slid his hand around John Paul’s waist, feeling the warmth of his skin under the crisp white cotton, pulling him gently in close. “Come here you,” he said, and kissed him. 

 

“Daddy! Craig!” Matthew cried as they approached, running to jump into John Paul’s arms. “Me and Hannah watched all the Toy Stories! And she let me have ice cream for tea!”

Hannah looked up, shading her eyes with her hand.  She’d barely made it to her feet when Craig swept her straight into a long, tight hug. “Thank you,” he said into her ear and put her down. “You were right. If things all work out, it’ll be nice to have had this. And if they don’t … well, we still had an awesome night. So thanks. I really mean it.”

“Get much sleep?” she asked slyly.

He shrugged with a self satisfied smirk. “A bit.”

“I’m surprised you can walk straight this morning.”

Craig gave a spluttering laugh and raised an eyebrow. “Oi! Less of the assumptions!”

She smiled. “Well, I’ll not pry then.”

“What happened to sweet and innocent little Hannah, eh?” he asked with a grin, linking arms with her as they followed John Paul and Matthew towards the lake.

“She grew up,” Hannah said wistfully. “Had a few boyfriends who _weren’t_ secretly gay. Drunkenly eloped with your step-brother, as you may recall. Got sick, got well again.  Then travelled the world and … well some field offices don’t have much for entertainment, so…” She laughed at his expression. “I _am_ nearly thirty now, you know! I wasn’t going to stay innocent forever!”

“Say no more, say no more,” Craig replied.  

“He’s a charmer, isn’t he,” Hannah said, changing the topic as she nodded at the five year old in front of them. “We had fun last night.”

“Yeah,” Craig said, his expression soft, “best insanely stupid idea John Paul ever had.”

“No regrets then?” She cast him a sideways glance.

“Nah,” he said. “Not for a second. Not this time.”

"Well, I'm glad it was worth it in the end. Gives a girl hope."

"It weren't no picnic for either of us," Craig cautioned. "Longest fucking four and a half years of my life.  But then ... Well, you know what they say about those who wait." 

"Yeah," she said, squeezing his arm, "I know."

"What are you two yakking about?" John Paul called back.

Craig smiled. "All good things, mate. All good things."

 

 

 

  _Fin_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are! 2 and a bit months, and 11000 words later, I'm done!
> 
> Technically, British consulates do not offer marriage services in Commonwealth countries and would be especially unlikely to do so in Singapore where sodomy is illegal and there are still sometimes prosecutions of gay men. However, since the nearest embassy offering weddings is in Manila in the Philippines, and that requires living in the country for a month first, I've taken a little dramatic license.


End file.
